You Better Take Me Home
by Every Day Is Halloween 45
Summary: Squilliam is pressured by the media to take in a poor woman, but soon realizes this could be good for his image. (Odd Couple spinoff)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay so this idea has been floating around in my head since I finished the first installment of my "Odd Couple" series way back. This little spinoff takes place before, during, and a little after "Odd Couple," so you have to read that one to understand this but you don't have to read the four sequels if you don't want to.**

 **I'm not a big fan of OC's in the SB fandom (mine were just throwaway characters to help move my story along), but Tiffany really stuck with me for some odd reason. I wanted to write a little something for her. Title inspired by the song 'Be My Lover' by Alice Cooper because I couldn't come up with one on my own. Go listen to it!**

You Better Take Me Home

Chapter 1

"Ditch the leather jacket, straighten out that sea urchin's nest you call hair, and put this on," Tiffany stared in disbelief as her boyfriend(for lack of a better term) ordered her around. He held a golden gown out to her in his tentacle. It was beautiful, though it was not her particular taste in attire.

"Why are you trying to change me," she responded after a moment of dumbfounded silence.

"Do you know how bad it's going to look when I show up with you on my arm looking like that?" Squilliam asked rhetorically while gesturing her current get up. "You've been living here for over a month and you haven't learned an ounce of class. How do you think that's going to make me look?" He held the dress out with more assertion, unibrow furrowed.

"I'm not gonna pretend to be someone I'm not, Squilliam," Tiffany said sternly. Her fins rose to her hips to prove she was not about to be swayed. With an annoyed sigh the wealthy octopus wiped his face with his tentacle, setting the dress down on his supposed girlfriend's bed. They had been in her room, arguing over this for the past ten minutes.

"Listen Tiff," he said after his temper had simmered down. "It's just for this one evening. I swear I'm not trying to change you, at least not here in my own home." He took her hands and kissed the backs of each of them. "Do this for me and I promise I'll go to that concert with you next weekend. Just reserve yourself for one night. No black leather, no drag racing, and no heavy metal." After that he pulled her into his arms, trying to sweet talk her into doing this.

He cared deeply for her, though sometimes she could be embarassing. She was definitely not the type of girl he would bring home to his parents, but the kind he could have a small love affair with. The typical story of 'rich man sweeps a poor girl off her feet and carries her off to his castle,' or in his case, mansion.

Tiffany allowed herself to be smothered into the maroon robe, inhaling his intoxicating scent. She let her eyes close and embraced him as well. Too exhausted to argue anymore, and elated that he would attend the concert, she agreed.

"Fine, but swear you'll go to the concert with me?"

"Cross my heart," Squilliam promised and lightly pushed her away. "Now, I need you to act like you're high class. Let me do most of the talking, and maybe dumb it down a bit. Make me look good, okay?" Tiffany ran a fin through her thick, blonde hair.

"Fine," she sighed. "I guess those acting lessons will finally pay off.

"That's the spirit," he lightly tapped her nonexistant nose then nearly skipped out of the room. "Be ready in an hour."

Groaning, the female fish flopped down, face-first on the fancy bed that came with the fancy room. She wasn't quite sure how long this would last. She had left college, so it was about time to start doing something with her life. She couldn't just live off of Squilliam forever. Of course she loved him, but she needed to be able to support herself.

Love. Such a powerful word, however she had yet to use it. The same went for him.

They had been in this sort of relationship for about a week after she had moved in. And what a strange relationship it was. Squilliam liked to keep it on the down low. It was complicated, but they knew their feelings for one another even though they lacked the courage to voice them.

As she lay on the bed, her own thoughts trapped her in a haze of rememberance.

...

 _Six Weeks Earlier_

The fish with the hot pink scales ran as fast as her fins would carry her. An unexpected nap had caused her to be late for the required seminar. Her leather boots clunked on the sidewalk while bubbles followed. She pushed past the other students who were in her way, apologizing as she did so.

"Almost there..." she was about to round a corner when her body slammed into another pedestrian, both falling to the ground.

"Watch where you're going!" The angry octopus said as he picked himself up.

"Sorry," Tiffany apologized half-heartedly after she stood up and picked up her bag. "I was running late..."

"Hmmm..." the cephalopod eyed her up and down. Clad in black leather and a band t-shirt, and the most unruly hair he'd ever seen. "Why am I not surprised," he said with an air of superiority. Tiffany's mouth hung open in offense.

"So you just assume I'm up to no good?"

"Yes I do, now if you'll excuse me, I have something important to attend to. I don't associate with your kind." With that the fancy octopus, with his nose literally in the air, walked away.

"What exactly is my kind?" Tiffany shouted after him in mild rage. Judgement was something she had to deal with quite frequently, so she didn't let it get to her too deeply. The cephalopod kept walking away, suction cups popping on the cement path. "You don't have to be so stuck up!"

"The eighties called, they want their clothes back!" he yelled back at her without turning around.

"The jerk who came up with that joke called, he wants it back!" the pink fish snapped. Like she hadn't heard that one before. She gave up with a growl and glanced at the clock tower on campus. "Barnacles, now I'm really late!" She took off for her destination once again.

Once she finally arrived, she was surprised to find the unibrowed octopus she had run into was at the podium. Confused, she turned to the fish sitting next to her.

"That's Squilliam Fancyson?" she asked.

"Sure is," the fish replied. "One can only hope to be as successful as him."

One of her music class requirements was to attend a seminar with special guest Squilliam Fancyson. He was to share how to succeed in the music business. Tiffany couldn't believe she had run into him and found him to be a complete snob. She fought off telling her neighboring admirer.

Perhaps she shouldn't be so judgemental, that was something she hated. Maybe he was just having a bad day. But by the looks of it, this Fancyson fellow had no qualms against bragging about his achievements. She knew he was pretty famous in Bikini Bottom and that he was a musician, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She didn't care much for classical music anyway, however she did appreciate it.

Her music genre of choice was heavy metal. She came to this university taking a major in the performing arts. She'd hoped to form a band by the time she graduated, but complications arose and she couldn't keep any together. Now she really had no inkling of what she wanted to do once she graduated. She'd thought about just running away from this small town. Take her guitar and head for the big city where nobody knows her. To find her own band. To get a fresh start in life.

While that sounded nice in theory, reality would come to kick her while she was down.

...

Bags in fins, guitar case slung across her back, and tears streaming down her face. Tiffany walked away from a better chance at life. Forced to drop out because only the wealthy could live their dreams while hers was just out of reach. Drowning in debt.

She sat on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to take her... well anywhere. She had no where to go. Her parents had kicked her out when she was sixteen. She had lived with a boyfriend until she went to college then they broke up because of it. This campus was literally her home for the past three years. During summer break, she would take any run down apartment she could find.

Wiping her tears away, she pulled herself together. Now should be her chance to start anew. Get as far away from here as possible, work hard and achieve her dreams! Her growling stomach snapped her back into reality.

 _Go to a city you don't know with no money for an apartment_ she thought. She'd just lost her job and she currently had five dollars in her pocket. Sighing, she placed her guitar case on the sidewalk and propped it open. Then taking out some paper and a marker, she wrote _For Sale_ and taped it on.

This was the last thing she wanted to do, but she needed to eat and hopefully she could get enough money to at least put a down payment on an apartment in town. Then she could find another job and slowly pay back her student loans.

"Who would want that thing?" a familiar voice sounded next to her. Turning her head, she found none other than Squilliam Fancyson standing there with a small group of followers.

"Someone cool," she retorted with an involuntary sniffle.

"Why in Neptune's name are you crying? You should be happy to be rid of that. Do yourself a favor and drop the whole rock 'n' roll lifestyle. You won't achieve anything with it." The followers made noises of agreement. Enraged, Tiffany jumped to her feet.

"Like you'd know anything about real achievements!" she yelled while stabbing a finger in his chest. The octopus appeared disgusted that she had touched him while the others gasped in shock. "You were probably born with a silver spoon in your mouth while my parents and I have struggled our entire lives! I've had to quit school 'cause I can't afford it and now I have to sell the only thing I have left just so I can find some dump to live in! So yeah, this 'rock 'n' roll lifestyle' is all I have now!"

Then to her embarrassment she burst into tears and plopped back down on the bench with her fins over her eyes. Squilliam's posse began whispering to him.

"That poor girl. Maybe you should do something," a female fish said to him. "Like offer some money." He merely scoffed.

"She doesn't deserve it," a male fish on his other side responded. "She's a trouble maker. That money will not be used for good. She's in this situation because she brought it on herself." Squilliam nodded in agreement.

"Maybe you should offer her a place to stay," someone suggested.

"And why should I?" Squilliam inquired.

"Your right, she can't be trusted in his house," someone agreed with the octopus.

"Well, it could be good for his image," said the female fish. Squilliam's ears perked up at that. Squilliam the Humanitarian. He liked the sound of that but still, what would people think of him just letting trash into his house?

"I would, but it's just too risky..." Before the snobby octopus knew it he was surrounded by paparazzi.

"What's that? Squilliam Fancyson would leave someone in need to suffer?" a reporter shoved a microphone into his face.

"Uh..." he sweated under pressure. Of course being famous had its ups and downs. The one time he desired no attention. "You see..."

"Are you going to help her, or leave her to her cruel fate," the reporter asked with over dramatization in her voice. Anything to make Fancyson look bad; they lived for this kind of thing. Tiffany snapped her tear stained face up upon the paparazzi's arrival and they bombarded her with questions. Lights from the cameras flashed into her eyes, nearly blinding her.

"Are you homeless, ma'am?"

"No comment," Tiffany asserted, feeling overwhelmed by all of this.

Squilliam wasn't sure what to do. If he said 'no' the press would destroy him and he could never get his reputation back. Taking a huge gulp, he stepped over to the fish woman on the bench and sat next to her. He was about to put on a good show.

"Oh, you poor thing," Squilliam said with false sympathy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she recoiled and pushed him away. "Of course you can come stay at my big fancy mansion until you get back up on your feet."

"What?" Tiffany questioned in befuddlement, eye brows furrowing.

"You heard me right, child," he continued, then said off to the cameraman: "Are you getting my good side?"

"No, I mean what the heck are you doing? I thought you didn't associate with my kind."

"I never said that," Squilliam nervously chuckled. He bent to whisper into her ear. "Just play along Nikki Fish Stixx. I'll explain later." Tiffany continued to stare, still unsure of what he was doing. "Ham it up please!" He ordered.

"Um... Oh, thank you kind sir!" she faked enthusiasm. "I am ever so grateful!" More flashes and there were murmurs and cheers in the crowd.

"Would someone care to help her with her bags?" The cephalopod called over to his limo driver who happened to be in the crowd of lackies. The driver came forward and carried her bags and guitar case to Squilliam's limo. Then Squilliam took her hand and guided her to the vehicle. Tiffany was sure she looked like a sea cow in headlights in all of those pictures.

"That Fancyson is such a good person," one of the lackies sniffled.

The driver opened the door and the two got in, sitting side by side in the back. Tiffany was amazed by the size. What a day this was turning out to be; she couldn't believe what was happening. The driver climbed in and they drove off with the crowd cheering behind them.

"I've never been in a limo before."

"Shocker," the snob replied. Tiffany frowned.

"Why are you doing this?"

"For my image," Squilliam answered bluntly. Some how, the pink fish wasn't so surprised. "Now listen. As soon as we get back to my place, I'll let you have one meal and then you're out, understood?"

"Fine," she said without emotion. She knew this was too good to be true. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of her disappointment. It's not like she wanted to live with some rich elitist anyway.

They drove on and on into the sunset, quiet the rest of the way. They could practically feel each others' coldness as they turned as far away as possible from one another.

At long last they arrived and it didn't come as a surprise to Squilliam that a few of the paparazzi had followed them. So he climbed out first after the driver opened the door, then he held out his tentacle for the fish woman. She reluctantly took it and stepped out to gaze upon the Fancyson Manor.

 **A/N: I hope that wasn't too boring. I promise the story will pick up as it gets going and hopefully it will get funnier. Please review and if anyone can guess the Nikki Fish Stixx reference, you are awesome!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the slow updates, I'm a busy busy college student. BTW Squilliam's house may or may not resemble the way it looked in 'House Fancy,'(a horrible episode if you ask me) as I have described it here but it's a good thing SB has limited continuity. Also, there are going to be several heavy metal references throughout this story. See if you can spot them all!**

 **Oops, I forgot. Disclaimer: C'mon, we all know FF writers do not own the source material.**

Chapter 2

"Follow my lead," Squilliam ordered as he led Tiffany by the fin to his front door. "Oh, you poor thing," he said more to the paparazzi than to her. "I'll give you some hot food and a warm place to stay. I'll even see if I can help find you a job." The octopus was really hamming it up for the camera, posing as he passed each reporter.

Tiffany was nearly blinded by the flashing camera lights that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to allow her a good look at the Fancyson manor. Her eyes landed dead center then traveled up and up as the house, if you could even call it that, seemed to go all the way up into the flower clouds.

A tug on her arm brought her back to the present. She didn't even realize that she had frozen in her tracks. Squilliam turned around as he found himself anchored. His brief annoyance was replaced with an ego burst at the sight of his "guest's" gaping mouth. A smug smirk found its way onto his wide lips.

"Come dear. I know it must be intimidating to see a house of this size for a person of your status, but I can assure you, you'll feel right at home."

That bragging statement caused Tiffany to forget her awe and remind her that this was all a farce. This snob was only acting for the camera; he would kick her to the curb once the press had gone. Bile built in her throat and disgust sculpted an ugly scowl onto her face. She considered exposing him for what he truly was right here, in front of the very people who could tarnish his reputation for a long time. Maybe even forever.

Squilliam nearly panicked as he witnessed her bright pink face turn a few shades darker. The crowd began to murmer as they closed in on the two. He knew what she was about to do, but the sound of her rumbling stomach gave him an idea about how to prevent it.

"I know the press must be upsetting you," he made sure to say it loud enough so they might take a hint. Most of the time he didn't mind the attention, but it was when the paparazzi caught him at the worst possible times is when he worried they could do some serious damage.

"But coming inside is the only way you can escape them. My, my, you do look awfully thin. When was your last meal?"

Tiffany continued to glare at him, refusing to answer. She would not swallow her pride, but she had to curse her stomach for betraying her a second time. Fancyson's grin grw wider at the noise. She hadn't eaten anything since the previous morning and it was nearing dinner time now, as a pinkish color began to over take the blue ocean. A debate began rattling around her brain on whether or not to accept this one meal he had promised her. She had been so wrapped up in her own anger that she failed to notice the cameraman approach. Before she knew it, a bright light flashed rather close to her face.

"What's wrong baby?" the sleaze bag asked in a slimy voice. "Don't like being treated like a charity case?" He took another picture which caused purple and green spots to swim in front of her reddening vision. In an instant, Tiffany had decided to take her anger out on the cameraman. Her fist came in contact with his face which nearly knocked him over. Squilliam was appalled at her behavior, however it gave him some satisfaction that this low life had finally gotten what he had deserved. This particular fish had been following him around for quite some time.

That gave Tiffany the release she needed. She watched the fish spit out one of his teeth, then he gave her a gapped-toothed grin. Tiny hearts floated around his head.

"I like aggressive chicks," he said to her before giving her a wolf-whistle.

"Get ready to fall in love!" The fish woman nearly charged at him in an explosion of rage. "I've been in plenty of mosh pits, so I've seen far worse than you buddy!" Squilliam grabbed her by the shoulders before she got to him.

"I think you've had enough for one day," he said, struggling to hold her back. "I am a cephalopod of high honor and while you are living here, I cannot allow you to sink to their level." He made sure that last part was directed at the paparazzi, who had backed down a bit having been limited by not being able to set foot on private property. Squilliam was able to get Tiffany through the gates . She had decided, begrudgingly to take him up on his offer, for her stomach had begun to twist from hunger pains.

A doorman awaited to admit them. The fish woman gave an obscene gesture to the sleazy cameraman, not appropriate for daytime television, before crossing over the threshold.

Awe had once again taken hold of her as she gazed around at the elaborate interior decor. A grand staircase made of the finest coral greeted her wide eyes. It lay a few feet across from the doorway.

"Good evening sir," a butler, a green fish in a suit, had approached his master. He was taller than Squilliam. "May I ask who your guest is?" He turned his nose up at her appearance. Squilliam gave the woman questioning look, unibrow raised. She understood what he was silently asking.

"Tiffany," she answered.

"Tiffany is in need of a place to stay and I have been gracious enough to offer her mine," the octopus bragged. "Have the chef prepare the finest meal he possibly can."

"Uh, yes sir." the butler complied and went to carry out the order. Tiffany's fin was once again in Squilliam's tentacle as he led her to the base of the staircase. The lanky octopus was a good deal taller than she was.

"Alright," he said in a low voice after he made sure the room was empty. "You'll get one meal, then we wait until the press have gone, which probably won't be 'till late. In the dead of night, I'll sneak you out of here."

"Fine," Tiffany replied, curtly. "I don't wanna be here anyway." The cephalopod's signature unibrow furrowed at her attitude.

"You should be grateful that I'm at least allowing you to eat."

"Grateful?" the fish woman snapped, fins curling into fists at her sides. "None of that was out of the kindness of your heart. That was just a desperate attempt to get good headlines!"

"Keep your voice down," Squilliam ordered. "How dare you talk to me like that. I am Squilliam Fancyson the ..."

"I don't care who you are! I'll call anyone out on their baloney. I see everyone as equal even though you think you're better than me."

"Oh, I know I'm better than you," Squilliam returned, folding his arms across his chest and holding his head high. "The way you acted out there is proof enough for me.

"Oh yeah, well..." Tiffany started, but the octopus interrupted her with a raised tentacle.

"This is not worth my time. Abigail!" He called to a maid who arrived almost immediately. She was a stout, teal fish with short, black hair in a traditional maid's outfit. "Show this woman to one of the guest rooms and have her looking presentable for dinner, which should be ready in an hour. I will not dine with her looking like a hooligan."

Tiffany allowed her dagger eyes to speak for her, then she let out a frustrated growl before following the maid.

 **Please review, and Happy Holidays!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Squilliam waited impatiently for Tiffany at the dining table in his fancy dining room. He could only conclude that it must be taking Abigail quite some time to clean up that mess he let into his house. It's almost as if she put absolutely no effort into her appearance..

After what seemed like forever, his "guest" had finally arrived wearing the same tattered band shirt as before, minus the leather jacket and her frizzy hair had been brushed out a bit. She had been guided in by the maid who promptly disappeared as soon as Tiffany was seated across from him.

"After all that you show up still looking like you came off the street?" the snobby octopus asked, holding his tentacle out to gesture her attire.

"Well excuse me," Tiffany replied with sass. She had kept him waiting on purpose despite her increasing hunger. "Jeans and t-shirts are pretty much all I wear. I apologize if my clothing is not worthy of your presense."

"I see you're one for sarcasm. I guess that's one redeeming trait." Tiffany glared at him across the long table, and he did the same. After a moment, Squilliam spoke up again.

"My staff is not aware of my intentions," he said in a low voice. "And I intend to keep it that way."

"I kind'a figured," Tiffany had decided to keep up the secrecy when Abigail had questioned her. The fish woman glanced up to get a good look at the huge, dazzling chandelier that caught her attention. It appeared to sparkle with thousands of embedded crystals. Squilliam saw the reflection in her eyes and swelled with unapologetic pride at her amazment. He loved the fact that his elaborate mansion had frequently distracted her the moment she had set foot on his property, as it did with everyone he brought in.

"Yes," he continued. The sound of his nasal voice brought her eyes back down to his. "I have taken into consideration of the possibility that one of them could, how you might say, 'rat me out.'"

The butler from befrore arrived pulling a cart of food behind him. He placed each big platter in front of them and lifted the covers off. Then he poured their drinks,

"Thank you," Tiffany said to him with a smile. She recieved a wide-eyed expression in response.

"Uh, you're welcome miss," he returned after he had recovered from his apparent surprise, then he left the room. Tiffany couldn't help but notice that Squilliam did not thank his butler and she wondered if he ever did.

She glanced down at her plate and at all of the differet types of silverware. Her eyes moved over to Squilliam, who had already started eating, so she could see the right ones to use. She opted for the fork and knife closest to her plate, but first she took the cloth napkin and tied it around her neck like she saw in the movies. At long last she was able to scoop a big forkfull of steaming kelp into her mouth and let it slide down her throat into her starving belly. She had to hold back a noise of satisfaction before it could escape her lips. _Oh, Neptune this is so good,_ she thought.

Tiffany didn't even notice her "host" had been staring at her in disgust.

"What are you doing?" Squilliam nearly shouted at her.

"What?" she stupidly asked, her next forkfull froze just before her lips. He pointed to her chest.

"That's supposed to go on your lap," he refered to the napkin around her neck. He also took note of the piece of food stuck to the corner of her mouth. "Do you have any sense of class? Any at all?"

"Oh really?" Tiffany snapped back, setting her fork down and tearing the napkin off. "Does it matter? I don't want to spill anything on this shirt." He barely heard what she had said, for his eyes darted to what was barely sticking out of the sleeve of her t-shirt.

"Don't tell me that's a..." he said awith a moan attached to his voice. Tiffany grinned after she discovered what he was staring at.

"Oh, what?" she teased, lifting her sleeve to expose her upper arm. The image of a skelatal fish flashing the devil horn sign, surrounded by flames greeted his horrified eyes. "My tattoo? It is nice isn't it? Thank you for noticing."

"Oh," he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I should have known. You are walking a stereotype."

"You're one to talk," Tiffany mentioned. "I have more," she raised the pitch of her voice to torment the cephalopod while pulling the collar of her shirt down to expose the small one under her collar bone. Three music notes in the shape of skulls. "I also have one on my thigh, on both ankles, and I'm planning on getting a full back piece. Oh, and I have my belly-button pierced!" Squilliam rolled his eyes.

"How do you expect anyone to take you seriously?"

"Maybe they're the ones with the problem," she furrowed her eyebrows. Squilliam sighed and rubbed his temple due to an oncoming headache.

"Alright, I'd prefer it if we finish eating in silence," he suggested. "Let's just get through the evening."

"Whatever," Tiffany breathed out before continuing her meal.

...

It was late in the night. Squilliam's eye peeked through the drawn curtains in the living room to scan the property. There was not a soul to be found. He had checked every window to be certain there was absolutely no one around.

"I think the coast is clear," he said to Tiffany who had been reclining on a fine red sofa, channel surfing. Her eyes glued to the enormous flatscreen T.V.

"So now what?" she asked, placing the remote control back on the glass coffee table.

"I'll sneak you around the back," the octopus explained as he approached her. "We'll have to walk. If we take any of my cars out front we'll be likely to draw attention."

And so they did. Squilliam led the way through the dark path, cutting through the coral and kelp while he made Tiffany carry both her bags with her guitar case slung on her back. He brought a flashlight and kept darting his eyes all around to make sure they were not being followed. Eventually they made their way to a street just on the outskirts of town.

"Okay," Squilliam panted after the long journey. Tiffany had barely broken a sweat. She briefly set her two bags down. It must have taken them about twenty minutes to get into town on foot. The streets appeared to be abandoned, just as he'd hoped. He clicked the flashlight off, for the street lamps provided a dull light. "This is where I leave you."

"Thank you for your hospitality, oh kind sir!" Tiffany said in an over-the-top voice with her fin on her chest.

"Yeah, yeah," Squilliam rolled his eyes. "Farewell and good riddance..." He was about to turn around and leave when a shrill voice caused him to freeze in his tracks with dread.

"Hi Squilliam!" A stout, square shape approached them, waving. "I saw what you did on the news. That was so nice of you!"

"Yeah, uh..." the octopus stammered. He new this sponge frequently hung around his pathetic nemisis, Squidward Tentacles. Hopefully he wouldn't blow his cover. "What was your name again?"

"SpongeBob, remember?" the sponge suddenly noticed the fish woman standing next to him. "Oh, this is that lady you took in! Hi, I'm SpongeBob SquarePants! Squilliam here really did a nice thing taking you in... Wait, why are you guys out here?" Tiffany debated telling this guy the truth when her "host" spoke up.

"I was just, uh... taking her for a walk. I thought I would show her around Bikini Bottom." She thought that one was pretty lame. She was from around here.

"With her bags? Didn't you take her to your house to drop them off?"

"She likes to hold on to them. Paranoid, you know." Tiffany rolled her eyes while the cephalopod struggled to come up with decent lies.

"In the middle of the night?" SpongeBob inquired. Squilliam fumbled for an answer.

"Uh.. I should be asking you the same question," he returned.

"Oh, " the yellow one giggled. "I was counting the cracks in the side-walk and completely lost track of time." Tiffany was about to ask him why, however the sound of footsteps prevented her from doing so. Squilliam heard it as well. He squinted in the dark and noticed it was a reporter probably on her way home from work, followed by two cameramen. His head snapped over to his left at the sound of voices. More paparazzi who had yet to notice them. He gasped and grabbed Tiffany's wrist.

"Well, we have to go now," the octopus told SpongeBob. "You never saw us! Uh, Tiffany's camera shy." The fish woman grabbed her bags and the two took off the way they came.

"Oh, you shouldn't be. You know I do think camera shyness has something to do with unrealistic body ideals enoforced by the media..."

"Who was that?" the reported asked the rambling sponge once she arrived, just barely missing Squilliam and Tiffany.

"I never saw them!" SpongeBob nearly shouted in panic. He recieved raised eyebrows in return. Then he nervoulsy went back to counting the sidewalk cracks. "Eight hundred ninety-seven, eight hundred nintey-eight, eight hundred nintey-nine..."

...

"What are we doing?" Tiffany hollared to Squilliam as they ran back to his mansion.

"Change of plans," he panted. The beam of the flashlight bounced all over the place, illuminating the coral branches when the light landed on them. "We may have to wait it out for a few days."

"Whoa, wait a minute," she skidded to a stop. Squilliam turned around to look back at her, not stopping and ran smack into a coral branch. It hit his face and caused him to fall backwards. Laughter burst deep from Tiffany's belly while she set her bags down to help him to his feet. The noise sounded strange to her ears. It had been a while since she had a good laugh.

"It's not funny!" the octopus asserted. He stood up and brushed himself off.

"Then why am I laughing?" He merely grumbled at her breathy response. She stood with her hands over her stomach until the laughter subsided.

"Look," she said after she had regained her composure. "I'm not gonna spend a few days at your mansion. You don't even want me there and I am not a moocher. I can take care of myself. You can tell the press that I walked out o the count of my own pride."

"You don't understand," Squilliam explained. "You've never been in the spotlight. One bad article and my name could be damaged like that." He snapped his tentacle. "They'll still find a way to bring it all back to me. These people live to ruin celebrity lives. Please just stay for three days. By then something else will have happended and the press will be all over that. Give them time to forget about today."

Tiffany couldn't believe this. The cepahopod was begging her. He actually needed her. She didn't want to stay with him, but she really didn't have much of a choice. She was not about to let him know that though. She could ask to stay with her friend, Marty, but she lived with her boyfriend and Tiffany owed him some money already after losing a boat race to him. That would make for an awkward situation, not to mention she always felt like the third wheel when it was just the three of them. She figured she might as well agree. She would be recieving free food and a place to stay after all. What difference did it make that he was only doing this to make himself look good? It was an added bonus that she would spend the next few days in complete luxury. She could also apply for a few jobs and hopefully she would be called in for an interview, that way she wouldn't be out on the streets with absolutely nothing by the time he released her.

 _And it's not like I would really be mooching off of him_ , she tried to tell herself, yet she still wasn't quite fond of the idea. _This snob is getting my help in return._ That sleazy guy was right; Tiffany really didn't like being treated like a charity case. She was not one to take handouts.

"I don't know," Tiffany teased. She may as well jerk him around a bit. She had always been bitter towards the upper class and now was her chance to be in control for once. She wanted to see him down on his knees.

"Oh come on!" Squilliam implored. Such a disgrace that he had to reduce to begging. His forefathers would be so proud. "What do I have to do?" Tiffany noted his concern did seem genuine.

"You promise not to ridicule me?"

"Will you allow me to teach you some etiquette?" The fish woman turned around to leave him. "Wait! Okay, I promise." She turned back with a smug look. "I'll be gone most of the time, so you'll have the house to yourself. We won't even need to see each other but my staff will be watching you, so don't even think about stealing..."

"I should leave your sorry butt for that!" Tiffany yelled at him in offense. "You think all poor people, or people who don't conform are lazy theives and troublemakers don't you?

"I didn't mean..." the octopus stammered with his deflated ego, shielding his face in case this hooligan decided to hit him. "It's just that you're a stranger in my home, you have to understand why I would be cautious."

"I can't believe I'm doing this for you," she sighed out some bubbles. Well, it was more for herself than for him. If she had other options she wouldn't give this elitist a second thought. "Don't worry, I won't steal anything."

"So, you'll do it?"

"Fine." Squilliam nearly jumped for joy at her response.

"Oh, what a relief! Maybe I won't be ruined after all."

"You could say 'thank you,'" the fish woman more than suggested.

"Maybe once you've come through for me," he rudley stated. Tiffany let out an irritated grunt before picking up her bags. The two resumed their journey at a slower pace.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

What is there to do when you're all alone in a towering mansion? Well, not much contrary to Tiffany's first assumption. The butler, Oswald, had given her a tour around the place. The Fancyson Manor was elaborate and very luxurious, however all of the grandure seemed only to serve the purpose of inflating a certain ego. It was no surprise that Fancyson and his ancestors lived well beyond their means, but most things, including that huge replica of his unibrow, were absolutely unnecessary. What in Davy Jones' locker was a gilded doornob anyway? She did inform Oswald of her hypothesis. The two of them were making their way back to one of the guest rooms Squilliam had lent her on the third floor.

"Or maybe he's compensating for something, eh Ozzy?" she nudged him with her elbow and let out a chuckle.

"I'm not sure I follow, miss and it's Oswald," he stiffly replied.

"It's a joke, you see... Oh nevermind." She was more than certain he understood what she meant, for she caught a quick glimpse of a fighting smile on his green lips. Propriety had prevented it from taking form.

Now Tiffany lay on her stomach in the four poster bed, flipping through the channels on another huge television screen. A sigh of boredom escaped her pink lips and so did a few bubbles. Her eyes followed them as they drifted to the ceiling, popping once they touched it. She turned over on her back and continued to stare upwards at nothing in particular.

Squilliam had been gone most of the day. She awoke to his absence. From what the butler had told her, the octopus was to attend a photoshoot for Bikini Bottom's most attractive billionaires. There was supposed to be some sort of luncheon to follow and some other thing on his agenda. Whatever that was exactly, she couldn't remember nor did she care.

 _Squilliam? Attractive? Whatever!_ she thought. Well, he was not bad looking, not by a long-shot. She adored long hair, tattoos, and tight leather pants. Squilliam obviously lacked hair, his skin was as fresh as a baby's, and she doubted he would be caught dead in black leather. Yet he did possess a handsomness that was all his own. He was tall and thin, features she did in fact find attractive. That unibrow was questionable, though he seemed to take great pride in it, as if that ridiculous replica wasn't enough to tell her otherwise. Just because he didn't fit her particular tastes shouldn't mean he did not fit those of most women. There was no doubt his money must be a contributing factor.

Well, now that she was alone with nothing else to do, Tiffany figured she may as well check out the indoor pool but first she must tend to her urging fins. She had been dying to pluck on the strings of her guitar. It served as a theraputic cure for stress, or boredom. Both of which occupied her at the moment.

She rolled off the bed, removed the guitar, a navy blue fin-der strat, from its case and lifted the strap over her shoulder. Next she went to get the huge amplifier out of one of her suitcases, which was somehow able to fit in there despite the laws of physics. She flung the lid open and the amp popped out along with a few articles of clothing. She plugged the cord in, cranked it up, and after tuning the instrument she was ready to jam.

Her fins worked over the strings without even thinking about it. With a wide stance, she started playing a few notes then slowly worked her way up to playing around with different cords, making up some riffs. Eventually she just needed to shred, which she did. She kept going and going until she comepletely lost herself in the music. The sound reverberated off the walls. It floated all around her, wrapping her in absolute euphoria. She lost track of time, and of the world around her. Nothing else existed. There was only heavy metal.

...

"How do you think I look Oswald?" Squilliam asked his butler as he answered the door to let his master in. The octopus held the gossip magazine out to him. The cover featured him with his arm around Tiffany on the bus stop bench. The story of his charity had been printed already. In the photograph he had flashed a false, yet professional smile while the woman he held had a look of utter stupidity. He could do without the black leather jacket she wore. Sure his name was being spoken in a positive manner now, but what would they think of him allowing someone like her into his house? He didn't know much about her, yet they way she presented herself was less than desireable for someone of his kind.

"Very nice sir," Oswald answered. "Although I must ask: why do these tabloids matter? Shouldn't the simple fact of your generosity be enough? Why must you impress these gabby Gurdies?"

"Oh, hush! No one asked your opinion." Squilliam strutted in, rolling up the magazine and stuffing it under his arm.

"But sir..." Oswald never had the opportunity to finish his sentance because Squilliam demanded to know what that infernal noise that assaulted his eardrums was. The question was rethorical. He was pretty sure he knew exactly where it was coming from. Leaving the butler, the octopus stormed over to the solid gold elevator and commanded it take him to the third floor. Once he arrived at the guest room he allowed her to reside in, he pounded his fist on the door.

"Turn that racket down!" he demanded, but Tiffany was playing far too loudly for her to hear. When there was no answer he barged into the room and repeated his request. She had her back to him, so she failed to notice her "host." The so-called music was so loud it caused the cephalopod to cover his ears. Fed up, Squilliam unplugged the guitar from the amplifier. Only then did Tiffany turn around.

"Hey!" she cried out. "I was on fire! What are you doing back already?"

"It's after three, I said I'd be back by then," he answered. Tiffany was briefly surprised. She had been jamming for over an hour. "I do have somewhere to be tonight, though and I ask that you play that at a lower volume. As low as it can go, or preferably not at all. I am a refined composer and I don't want anyone to hear that noise coming from my property!"

"Noise?" Tiffany placed her fins on her hips, insulted. "Dude, this is music. You do realize metal has classical roots, right? It can be very complex and there are many different types."

"Please," the snob scoffed. "It's all the same. Noise! Here, let me show you some real music." With that, he promtly pulled a disk out of nowhere and strolled over to the reord player against the wall.

"Sweet, you're a vinyl junkie too? At least we have that in common." The octopus did not reply. Instead he put the record in place then dropped the needle down. First there was some crackling, then orchestrations emenated from the speakers.

"Ah," Squilliam sighed. "So heavenly. Now this is music!" He stood back with his eyes closed, swaying to the gentle sounds of the violins. Tiffany had to admit it was beautiful, but she was still angry at him for unplugging her and dissing her passion.

"It's nice," she said, messing with him. "But do you have amps that go up to eleven?" Quickly, she plugged herself back in and cranked it up that far. Her shredding continued which made Squilliam grimace. He ground his teeth while he turned his music up louder. Tiffany fired back with more ferver, adding more wammy. He turned it up again then she worked the wah peddle, grinning at him. He squeezed his eyes shut, stuffing corks into his ears.

The classical music coming from the record player was working its way up into a bombastic frenzy. Tiffany took note of the heavy turn it took, so she matched her playing with the recording, playing along with the orchestra.

Suddenly, Squilliams eyes popped open before he removed the corks. To his surprise, what he was hearing sounded pretty decent. It wasn't much to his liking, though it was creative. After the song was over, he removed the needle and Tiffany ceased her playing. The silence was defening.

"That was... not that bad," Squiiliam commented, not willing to admit he had been impressed.

"Is that the closest thing to a complement you can give?" Tiffany snickered as she separated herself from her beloved instrument. She placed it on the bed.

"I'm going to a dinner party tonight and won't be back til late tonight," he said instead. "I'll have the chef prepare something for you. Feel free to use the pool or browse the library, or admire my gilded doornobs." With that he left her in the room to get ready.

In the elevator he couldn't help thinking of what had just occured. She played with such intensity. Such passion. Like he conducted. Tiffany conducted her own inner orchestra, even though he still thought she had bad taste. He took note of her pursed lips while she worked her fins up and down the neck of the guitar, of the fire in her eyes as she increased the tempo. If it were even possible her hair appeared more wild. That same fire came over him every time he played his clarinet, or conducted an same energy that came from within her moved from the tips of her fins, transported to the strings. The same passion came from his core, traveled down his arm to the tip of his baton, comanding the players, controlling the instrumentations with his movements.

She had said they had one thing in common. Now it was safe to say they at least had two.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well, well, for someone who doesn't care for OCs, I have created a couple more! I swear they are only side characters to serve the story, but I've had some fun with them!**

 **I'm sorry this chapter is on the short side. I'd originally planned one long one, but decided to cut it down into smaller sections. I also felt it had been a long time since I've updated, and I wanted to let everyone following this story to know I'm not abandoning it. So, think of this lil chappy as a teaser for what's to come. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and I hope I don't disappoint.**

Chapter 5

Tiffany had been left alone once again with her thoughts, which kept replaying the incident that had just taken place. She had impressed him. Not that she cared, but for someone who did not appear to expand his musical horizons beyond classical, he seemed to like her playing. She bet Squilliam had no clue she could play segments of classical music(as many musicians could) on the electric guitar, and so she had surprised him; even impressed him, though he wouldn't admit it.

She couldn't determine why exactly she was dwelling on this. She didn't need to prove herself to some music elitist and upper class snob! Tiffany did not care for the wealthy, especially those born into wealth while everyone else break their backs so they could stay that way! So, why did she care what Squilliam thought of her? Perhaps she just wanted him to see that not every poor person was completely worthless. It was the lower class that made this city after all, yet people like the Fancyson's continue to think the lower class were beneath them; that they were all lazy and would never amount to anything. She asked herself again: why did she care what he thought? He is one of them, she couldn't change his opinion. They were all the same, only caring for themselves. Glutting on exessive living while she, and people she knew were barely making it.

She ground her teeth the more she thought about it, pacing the room and she went back to thinking about why she was even bothering to help the cephalopod out in the first place. He never would have given her a second thought if he would not benefit from her. Tiffany was very close to ditching this place when her out-dated shell phone rang, snapping her out of it. She answered the device.

"Tiff!" the familiar, anxious voice of her friend, Marty, sounded in her ear with its Brooklyn accent. "It's all over the news! Are you all right? Why didn't ya say you were havin' troubles? Why didn't ya call me n' Bruiser? You coulda' come stay with us! Instead you let some yuppie you don't know take you to his house?"

"I'm fine Marty," Tiffany assured her friend. "It's a long story, I'll explain later. I don't feel like talking now." She had grown rather weary from all of the bitter anger and headcahe inducing stress, though it was nice knowing Marty cared about her.

"Listen," her friend continued. "Bruiser told me to tell you to forget about the money you owe him. You don't have to pay him back."

"What?," she was caught by surprise. Bruiser was a nice guy, but she just couldn't not repay her debt. Tiffany always stuck to her word. "No, I can't let him do that. You tell him I'll get him his money as soon as I can. I know I'll have a job again, soon."

"Tiff, it's no big deal. He knows you're goin' through hard times; if you're not gonna stay with us, at least allow this gesture."

"How 'bout this," Tiffany offered an alternative. "I made the bet, I lost, and I will pay it. How 'bout a rematch. I'll race him again. If I win, then we can forget about the money. If he wins, I still have to pay him."

"You know he'll just let you win..."

"He better not! When's the next race?"

"Actually, the boys were plannin' one tonight, but..." Marty was interrupted again.

"What time?" Tiffany demended.

"Ten o' clock, just let me run it by him first and I'll call ya back."

"Fine, but I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." Before she hung up she heard a faint 'so stubborn!'

Great, she had been wanting to race again and now she had a chance to rid herself of one debt. She knew Bruiser cared for her too and he really woudn't mind if she didn't pay him, yet she couldn't go back on her word. Add that to the fact that she really didn't want the word to spread that she couldn't lose a bet fairly.

There was a knock at the door, so she went to open it. To her surprise, Fancyson himself stood out in the hall, looking appehensive.

"They want to meet you," he sighed out.

"Who does?" Tiffany questioned. The bitterness had returned at the sight of his face.

"My friends; everyone who is high class in Bikini Bottom. They want you to come to the dinner party tonight."

"I don't think so," she replied. "You know I wouldn't fit in. A bunch of rich fat cats judging me? No thanks!"

"Oh, who's doing the judging here?" Squilliam retorted with his hands on his hips. "These are my friends you're talking about. If you came it would help boost the illusion. They're starting to think I'm keeping you locked in here."

"I don't know man..." she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, disrupting her. She took it out and flipped it open. Marty had texted her. The message read 'Bruiser's accepted. 10:00 2nite usual spot.' Tiffany thought for a minute. She would need a ride, and maybe she could mess around with the rich folk if she would be forced to dine with them. Why not make the most of it?

"Um, is the party located anywhere near the desert by any chance?" she asked.

"About five miles, or so. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she said innocently. "I just have a small errand to run once it's over. Which will be..?"

"Hmm," the octopus contemplated with his tentacle on his chin. "Dinner starts at seven, so I'm guessing until midnight but we probably won't stay that late. Did you change your mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I have! I really should get out of the house. Get a little culture, y'know."

"Well uh, great!" Squilliam said with false enthusiasm. "Is that what you're planning on wearing?" Tiffany looked down at her current attire.

"What's wrong with it?" she inquired, slightly messing with him. "This shirt doesn't even have any holes in it."

"No, but your jeans do," he replied, pointing to said jeans.

"I'm kidding man. I'm sure I can whip something up." she playfully shoved his shoulder.

"Just be ready by six and please, for the love of Neptune, don't embarass me!" the octopus whined before stepping away, rubbing his easily-bruised shoulder. Tiffany closed the door, then texted her friend back:

'Have Coral Face bring my boat. It's on!'

 **A/N: That probably wasn't too interesting, so how about a few songs to go with the story so far? Well, they don't necessarily match the story but these are songs I like. There will be more to come in future chapters. Yes, I'll be that loser that creates a soundtrack for my fic!**

 **I Want Out by Helloween. Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. I Rule The Ruins by Warlock. Hell Bent For Leather by Judas Priest.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. Life gets in the way. Hope I don't disappoint those who have been following.**

Chapter 6

Both stomachs knotted in fearful anticipation as the two sat in the boat on the way to the dinner party. This time Squilliam drove one of his fancy boats while his "guest" occupied the passenger seat. Squilliam agonized over potential embarassment on Tiffany's part. Tiffany squirmed at the idea of judgemental eyes watching her every move.

They exited the vehicle upon arrival then to Tiffany's surprise, Squilliam offered his arm.

"Put on a good show," he said. "You actually do look decent. You'd look even better without the jacket." Tiffany wasn't sure why she blushed at his half compliment and offered arm. She was grateful for the darkness. Reluctantly, she linked her fin into his slender tentacle. She was close enough to smell his cologne. He had on just the right amount, not too much. Enough to mingle with his natural scent. She hated to admit she liked it. Discretely and regretfully, she took in a big whiff.

He was dressed in his usual maroon robe. She wore her leather jacket over a frilly purple dress. The only one she owned.

The duo made their way into the huge mansion with unsteady legs, thankful they had each other to lean on should one of them fall over due to jitters. Niether of them wanted to be there.

The evening passed in a blur for Tiffany. Before dinner everyone gathered around the main hall to socialize. Most of them gushed over how generous Fancyson supossedly was. She rolled her eyes at his prideful smirk. All seemed to be going well for him.

Tiffany was asked some questions by a few of the rich elite. Was she enjoying her stay at Fancyson Manor? Was he a good host? To which she lied. She noticed a few groups looking in her direction and whispering amongst themselves, holding looks of distaste. Though for the most part she went ignored. It was all about how charitable the cephalopod was. They never once asked about her. Never inquired about who she was, her hobbies, or how she planned on getting back on her feet. They never cared to ask how she was doing, or how she felt about this whole situation.

The fish woman abandoned her intentions of embarrassing the uptight octopus. She had decided it was not worth it. They were not worth it, and she would rather go unnoticed than have their misconcieved atttention. She told herself she did not care. She should not care what they thought of her.

It was now nearing eight 'o clock and it was time for dinner. Everyone gathered in the dining room to eat. Tiffany was seated in between Squilliam and this elderly, fish woman wearing way too much gaudy jewlery.

"Oh my goodness," the elder fish gasped. "You're the one Mr. Fancyson took in."

"That's right," Tiffany lowered her champagne glass to say so.

"That was so lovely of him. Such a kind man." Tiffany fought off a derisive snort. "Oh, pardon me. My name is Lucy Finrich, of Finrich oil." She offered her fin. Tiffany shook it.

"I'm Tiffany Kelplier."

"Now I believe that's a French surname?"

"I think so," Tiffany replied. She had little knowledge of her ancestry. Lucy's next query completely caught her off gaurd.

"So how are you feeling, dear? I can't imagine what you're going through."

"W-well," Tiffany could barely splutter out an answer. The unexpected kindness, even if it was not genuine, took her by surprise. The idea of someone even pretending to take an interest was pretty nice. And of course Mrs. Finrich couldn't fathom what Tiffany was going through. Like Fancyson, she had been born into wealth and inherited her oil company.

"I'm doing fine. Squilliam's been a good host. I've got several job applications out and plan on leaving when I get enough on a down payment for a cheap apartment. I'd really hate to overstay my welcome and I don't just take hand-outs, so I'd like to be on my own as soon as I possibly can." Lying for Fancyson seemed to be getting easier, although the part about the job applications and her pride were true.

"That's good to hear," Lucy confirmed. "It's only been a day and you've already started looking for a job. That's dedication. Well, I wish you the best." Tiffany looked into her warm, wrinkled eyes and they seemed sincere.

"Thank you!" the pink fish couldn't stop the smile even if she wanted to. Perhaps not all who came from money were so bad.

Once again, the elderly fish's next question left her stunned.

"That Fancyson sure is handsome, isn't he?"

"Uh," Tiffany struggled to respond, which caused Lucy's grin to widen. "S-sure, I guess. I've... never really thought about it." That was a lie, and the memory of her inhaling his scent made blood flow to her cheeks. She looked over to see if Squilliam had heard. Luckily he was preoccupied with showing off his unibrow to the squid sitting next to him. Finrich giggled.

"Well, your blush tells me otherwise," Lucy pestered. Tiffany's pink face grew scarlet. "I'll save you the embarassment and let it drop, but maybe you should start noticing. Good luck to you, dear." With that, the elderly fish returned to her meal, as did Tiffany. This time she remembered to fold the cloth napkin in her lap.

...

"Okay, pull over here," Tiffany instructed. The octopus did so with confusion on his face.

"This is the middle of no where," Squilliam noted, looking about the vast stretch of sand and open ocean. Little coral branches stuck out from the ground in scattered brush.

"Exactly," Tiffany chimed before opeing her door to step out. Squilliam followed with growing irritation.

"Why are we in the desert?"

"You'll see," was the fish woman's cryptic response, resulting in a groan from her "host."

Squilliam was surprised to find the dinner party had gone quite well. He had held most of the attention, not allowing much embarassment from his "guest." They had left shortly after the meal as he was tired from the day's busy agenda. Now he grew annoyed at the fish woman for dragging him out to the desert for Neptune knows what.

Tiffany glanced at the time on her shell phone. It was nearing ten o' clock. Any minute now.

The sound of boat engines could be heard in the distance, promting the duo to look in the direction they had come. The two boats pulled in just ahead of them; one red with a silver lightning bolt painted on the side, the other black with pink flames on the hood. Squilliam's mouth hung agape. Two figures emerged from the boats, and Tiffany ran up to embrace them both.

"You okay?" the petite, female fish asked in her high-pitched voice.

"I'm fine," Tiffany assured her friend, then turned around to the cowering octopus. "Squilliam, come meet my friends." Said octopus was cowering because one of the figures who emerged from the boats happened to be a mako shark. Squilliam didn't budge. He wasn't sure he could.

"It's okay, he's cool," Tiffany coaxed. They felt like jello, but Squilliam was able to force his legs to move in their direction. She introduced them upon his arrival. "Squilliam, this is Marty and Coral Face." Now that he was close enough to allow a good look, he knew why they called the mako shark by that name. His face had been scarred, leaving rough and bulging skin along his left cheek. He was slim, and much taller than Squilliam. He wore a denim vest over a white t-shirt, with some jeans and leather boots.

The one called Marty was a tiny, pale blue fish who was much shorter than Tiffany. Her black hair had been cut short and spiked. She wore an _Iggy and the Sturgeons_ band t-shirt with fish-net sleeves, tight black pants, and leather boots.

"I'll tell you everything later," Tiffany whispered to her punk rock compainion.* Marty took her fins in hers.

"You can come to me for anything, you know that?" Tiffany nodded at her friend's reassurance.

After giving Tiffany's fins a light squeeze, Marty stepped back and held up her own left fin. Something on her finger flashed in the headlights. Tiffany gasped.

"Did he?" Marty answered with a huge grin. "He did! Bruiser proposed! I knew it!" The girls embraced each other and let out screams of pure excitement, which caused Squilliam and Coral Face to cover their ears.

"Will you be my maid of honor?" Marty asked after their gushing had ceased.

"Are you kidding? Of course!" Tiffinay replied with glee. There was more screaming as the two held each others' fins while they jumped up and down with girlish enthusiasm.

Squilliam rolled his eyes. That ring had been the tiniest rock he'd ever seen. He would gaurantee her fiancé didn't spend much on it. It was probably worthless.

"Well, congratulations," he said sarcastically. "Is this what you've dragged me out her for?" As if on cue, loud engines drawing nearer could be heard as an ominus warning. They weren't quite the same as the two boat engines before, but louder. More aggressive. And there were much more than two.

The fast approaching headlights could be seen, bringing the sound with them as they came closer. Squilliam's heart dropped like lead upon their arrival. They were a biker gang of sharks!

The engines roared in Squilliam's ears, mixing with his pounding heart so that he could not single it out from the myriad of motorcycles. Terror flushed through him as the gang circled the four of them. The whoosh of engines whipping around them, and the tires whirling the sand in dancing grain. The toothy grins of the various different sharks flashed before his eyes along with his cushy life.

 _Oh neptune!_ the octopus thought in horror. _She's brought me here to be offed!_

Then they divided into two separate lines parallel to each other, a large gap between them. The engines ceased, leaving a deafening ring in Squilliam's ears and at last he could hear his own heart. Could they?

The shark closest to the four threw his helmet to the ground and hopped off his blood red bike. A huge great white. His muscled arms stuck out of his leather vest. The colors on the back read: _Bikini Bottom Predators_. His dorsal fin poked out of a custom made hole. His rough jawline could smash concrete.

Squiiliam gulped as he appraoched. A flash of blue streaked by. It was Marty running to embrace the monster. He opened his arms for her.

"Bruiser!" she shouted with joy, and his muscled arms enveloped her.

"I've missed you too, baby," his deep, gruff voice assured. They kiss passionately, not caring who was watching. Squilliam's unibrow raised. Now this was an odd sight. But then again, he shouldn't be so surprised. Interspecies dating was on the rise. They even held pride rallies for it.

The two pull apart and just gaze lovingly at each other for a moment. The size differance between them was quite comical. This petite whisp of a fish and this giant, burly beast. The top of her head just reached his chest.

After they'd had their fill of each other, Bruiser lifted his fiancé and perched her on top of his motorcyle. Then he turned around.

"How ya doin' Tiff?" he asked the pink fish upon his arrival. Two bull sharks climbed off their bikes to join him.

"I'm okay," she replied. They hugged as well, then Bruiser pulled Coral Face in for one.

"You ready to do this?"

"You bet!"

"Do what?" Squiiliam inquired, still trembling with fear.

"Race, silly!" Tiffany giggled. She couldn't help being entertained by his frightful expression once the biker sharks came. "They're not gonna hurt you, relax." Of course he could not do so.

"So, I hear you're lookin' after our Tiff here," Bruiser addressed the cephalopod whose throat went so dry he could only nod.

"I'm unsure of your motivations," the great white continued, lowering his menacing face down to Squilliam's. "But if you hurt her; if I get the slightest hint you're up to something... Well, I'll let you use your imagination." Squilliam gulped again at the threatening tone, the hot breath on his face.

"Understood," his voice had barely been above a whisper.

"Let's do this, girl."

"You're goin' down!" Tiffany taunted the animal. She hopped in her black and pink boat without opening the door. Bruiser got in his red and silver. Both drove in between the parallel lining of motorcycles. The two revved the engines to up the theatrics. The biker sharks cheered and threw their fists in the air.

Squilliam continued to shake in terror despite Tiffany assuring him he would not be harmed. The mako called Coral Face and the two bull sharks looked down at him with toothy, intimidating grins. He couldn't stay here with them. They could smell his fear. Before he knew it, he was jogging up to the black and pink boat.

"Tiffany!" he shouted over the engine. Her head turned to him. "Let me in!"

"You wanna go?" she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, yes. New expirences, all that." He wasn't too crazy about this alternative. Glancing back at the laughing sharks he decided this was slightly better. "Please let me in!" The octopus franticly pulled the passenger door open and buckled himself in.

Tiffany had a feeling this would be entertaining, however she couldn't allow the squirming octopus to distract her. She just had to win.

Panting and sweating, Squilliam's stomach lurched. She wouldn't go too fast would she? The rev of the engine contradicted his thought, and caused his heart to quicken its pace.

Swallowing a lump, he braced himself.

* **Note, when I say "punk rock" I mean _real '_ 70s/'80s punk rock. I'm talkin' The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Blondie, Black Flag, The Damned. _Not_ Green Day, Avril Lavigne pop-punk.**

 **Once again, I apologize for the long wait. Busy scheduel and lack of motivation are to blame. Hopefully it won't take me so long to update again.**


End file.
